Flesh and Blood
by Desperate with Imagination
Summary: It's the end of the world but Carol's not alone anymore. Set Pre-season 1. Please see profile for detailed author notes.
1. Out of the Shadows

**Fandom: **The Walking Dead

**Characters: **Carol, Daryl and ensemble.

**Genre: **Gen with a touch of angst

**Warnings: **Brit/Australian writing about Americans / Ed Peletier being an arsehole (asshole) / unbetaed

**Summary: **Carol realises she's no longer alone. Set pre-season 1.

**Flesh and Blood (1/2)**

Ed's careful not to leave bruises on her face now there's no make-up to cover them but eventually he slips up, enraged because she let Sophia stay with Eliza (and she'll do it again and again and again; anything to keep Ed's hands off her baby).

"What did I tell you?" He whispers in her ear, one hand wrapped hard around her right arm the other round her neck, thumb pushing into the flesh above her collar bone.

Carol doesn't say anything. Her cheek is swollen, pushing against her teeth and she can't tell if the wetness is blood or tears.

"Fuckin' pathetic," Ed says, letting her go, and she should be relieved.

Relieved that he's rolling away. Relieved that he's not holding her down, and reaching for his belt. Instead her stomach flips and there's a stabbing pain in her chest as she thinks about the way he looks at her little girl.

Carol waits until he's snoring before pulling on a thin cardigan over her faded singlet. She crawls out of the tent and grabs a cloth and small cup of water. Ice would be better, but it's simply another item to add to the list of things they no longer have. She can just make out Glenn on top of the RV. He waves and she's grateful for the darkness. She gestures towards the forest, like she wants to pee, and thinks she sees him nod in reply.

It's quiet between the trees and for once she doesn't worry about walkers because right now there's no monster in the world worse than the one in her tent. She huddles down at the root of a thick trunk, dips the cloth in the water and holds it to her cheek. It's too late to make much of a difference. She rests her head on her knees and tries to control her breathing as she thinks about what people will see in the morning. What they might say. There's a hole in the knee of her sweatpants and she pulls at it with the fingers of her free hand.

At the sound of breaking branches she's on her feet ready to run before she's had time to think about it.

"Goddamn, stupid bitch, almost got yourself shot."

Carol relaxes when she realises its Daryl, not Merle. Sinks back down and holds the cloth up to her cheek again.

She can almost see him now. He stops about five feet away.

"You takin' a piss?"

Carol digs the toe of her right trainer into the ground. They all sleep in their shoes now and there's no point getting upset or embarrassed by bodily functions.

"No," she says, and sometimes her voice feels so small it's a wonder she can talk at all.

He doesn't ask her to speak up. She can hear him tap the bow against his leg.

"A shit?"

She ducks her head down, not sure how well he can see in the dark.

"No," she says, a little louder. Her cheek aches.

"Then what'n the fuck are you doing out here?"

She holds the cloth steady, keeps her eyes on the ground even though she can't see anything. She hears him move closer.

"I coulda shot you and you've got nothin' to say," he taps the bow against her left knee. "Hey."

Carol thinks about grabbing the bow, pulling it away. Telling him to get lost, to let her be. But she doesn't. She never acts on any of the things she imagines.

He's standing so close she can tell when he tenses up.

"Fuck," he says, "you bit?"

She looks up as he crouches down placing the bow carefully to the side. It's too dark to see his face properly, but she can smell him. Sweat, dirt and blood. He reaches out grabs her left arm and shakes her.

"Show me," he says. "Fuck. You see a geek out here?"

She wonders what Ed would say if she got bit. Whether anyone would look out for Sophia.

"I'm not bit," she says, but Daryl's already pulling her hand away from her cheek releasing her arm to grab the small flashlight he carries. She flinches away from the light, blinks and then it's dark again.

"You ain't bit," he says, and she doesn't know what to make of his tone.

He lets go of her wrist and picks up the bow, taking a few steps back once he's standing again. But he doesn't leave. It's dark and eerily quiet, nothing but the sound of their breathing.

She wets the cloth again and presses it gently to her cheek. He sniffs, and she knows he's rubbing a hand beneath his nose. He does that a lot. In daylight it makes him look younger than she thinks he is.

"That ain't gonna do shit," he says.

She let's out a shaky breath.

"Yeah," she says, "I know."

But she keeps the cool material there anyway.

"Can't stay out here," he says, and she's never heard him talk so much. "Not unless you really fixin' get to bit. Or shot."

She closes her eyes. Leans her head back against the trunk.

"Be a real shame for that lil' girl if something happened to her mama."

Carol looks up at him at that. Struggles to rise, tipping over what's left of the water.

"Sophia is my _life_," she says, taking a step toward him "don't you _dare_ imply that I would, that I would..."

She can't finish, her chest feels too tight.

"Didn't fucking say that," he says, like he's angry and sulking at the same time, "not like I give a shit anyway."

She can hear him fidget with the bow and thinks about how his grip wasn't hard enough to leave a mark when he grabbed her before.

"Any luck?" Carol says, once she can breathe properly again, reaching forward and almost touching the bow.

"Does it look like it?" His tone isn't as mean as the expression she imagines he's making.

It's been two days since he went out hunting with his brother, and a day and half since Merle came back without him. Knuckles bloodied and shit eating grin on his face. She wonders if anyone else noticed.

"It's good," she says, "it's good you're back."

Daryl snorts at that, takes a step back like he thinks she doesn't mean it.

She does though.

When Merle's passed out and Ed's not around she's seen the way he is with Sophia. Not gentle, but not unkind either. Almost shy when confronted by her daughter's curiosity about the bow. About the wings on his jacket. About the squirrels.

"Why don't you ever bring us rabbits?" Sophia had asked him one day.

Daryl had shrugged, avoiding eye contact as he hunched further over the squirrels he was skinning.

"I just reckon you're showing off," said Sophia, and Carol thanks God every day that Ed hasn't managed to completely smother that spark her daughter carries. "Squirrels are harder to kill right? Bet rabbit tastes better though."

Daryl had stopped and looked up at her, squinting in the daylight and for a second Carol thought he might smile. Instead he said:

"You just gonna stand there, or you gonna help?"

Sophia had wrinkled her nose but had sat down and let him show her what to do.

"It was gross mama," she'd said that night, quiet so Ed wouldn't hear, "but also kinda cool."

"Your brother," she starts, breaking the silence again, not sure exactly what she's going to say.

Daryl saves her the trouble.

"Hunt better alone."

She doesn't ask about why he's come back empty handed if that's the case. She wonders if he's been out there waiting for his own bruises to fade.

"I should go," she says, bending down to look for the cup.

She finds it on the second pass, and turns to leave.

"Wait," he says.

He doesn't move to stop her but she stays anyway.

"Just...this way," he says, slipping the strap of the bow over his shoulder so it rests on his back.

She puts the cloth in the cup and follows, trying to match his quiet steps. He doesn't look back at her until they get to the edge of the camp, when he lifts his left arm to get her to stop.

"Daryl," says Glenn, standing on the edge of the RV's roof, "that you?"

"No, it's a walker, come to end your pitiful attempts at keeping watch."

"Nice," says Glenn," I guess you didn't lose your charming personality while you were out playing Rambo or whatever it is you do when you're running around the forest. Oh hey, you see Carol out there? She left a while ago and I didn't see her get back."

"You didn't think to go look for her when she didn't come back?"

Glenn moves from one foot to the other, always a bundle of nervous energy.

"I just figured she was doing, well you know...Woman's stuff."

"You shitting me?"

"No?" says Glenn, before seeming to notice her, "Oh, you're there. Sorry Carol."

She just raises her hand, keeping her face turned away from the dimmed light of the campsite.

"Well time to turn in," Glenn says, heading for the ladder, "T-dog's up next. That guy sleeps like the dead...that's actually kind of funny you know. I mean that that saying is completely re-"

"I'll take it," Daryl interrupts.

Glenn pauses, one foot on the last rung, the other on the ground.

"What?"

"I'll take watch."

Glenn says nothing, but he cocks he head to the side. Looks at shoes. Looks at his hands.

"You got a problem with that?"

"No. No problem," Glenn says, backing away from the RV, hands raised, "go for it. Knock yourself out. Actually, don't do that. Just watch away. You'll get no objections from T-Dog. Or from me. This here is an objection free zone."

He keeps talking as he leaves voice fading into the darkness until Carol can barely hear him.

"Fucking Chinaman never shuts his trap," said Daryl as he climbs to the top of the RV.

"He's Korean," says Carol, not sure what she's supposed to do now.

"You coming up or what?" Her eyes have adjusted to the dim light of the camp and looking up she can see the scowl on his face.

She thinks about Sophia, safe with the Morales family, and Ed, snoring in their tent, before moving toward the ladder.

She's never been on top of the RV and she takes her time climbing, aware that Dale is asleep inside. She struggles a bit at the top but Daryl doesn't offer to help her. He's already sitting at the front of the vehicle, legs hanging over the side, bow off and to one side. There's an empty chair to his right and in between a collection of objects. Moving forward she sees comics, a tattered book, several granola bars, a bottle of water, a large flashlight and a hand operated horn. The faded patio-style umbrella shade used for shelter from the sun and rain has been pulled down; up close it looks old and forlorn.

Daryl doesn't look at her, just gestures toward the chair.

"There's a blanket too."

She settles in the chair gingerly, before pulling the blanket from under the chair and unfolding it. She shakes it out a few times and then lays it over her legs. She doesn't know what to do with her hands so she wraps them in the rough material.

"I'll wake you before the others get up," he says.

Carol turns toward him in the chair, stretches out and pulls the blanket up so it covers her shoulders and scratches against the bottom of her chin.

"Daryl..."

He gets to his feet, almost graceful as he does a silent circuit of the roof. He sits down again, reaches for the flashlight and turns it over in his hands. She notices that he's careful not to accidentally hit the switch. He clears his throat a few times.

"That...husband of yours," he says, turning away so she can't see his expression, "never seen him up and about before you. So I'll wake you up before the others start makin' noise."

She feels the telltale pinprick of tears and blinks them back. It's harder to swallow the hot sore feeling rising in her throat. He looks down at the flashlight in his hands before glancing in her direction so quickly she thinks she may have just imagined it. She wants to reach out, touch him, make him understand how much this unexpected kindness means. But she doesn't. She never does the any of the things she wants to.

Instead she burrows her head underneath the blanket and closes her eyes. She says "thank you" into the material so that he can pretend not to hear.

He wakes her by tapping the flashlight against her leg. The early morning light is a soft bruise of dark purples, blues and yellows. Carol raises a hand to her cheek; it's tender but only slightly swollen.

"It don't look that bad," Daryl says, but he won't make eye contact with her.

She stands up and folds the blanket carefully, returning it to the space under the chair. She looks out over the quarry and surrounding forest, arms crossed over her stomach, hands gripping her elbows. There's plenty she wants to say but Daryl's quiet and people will be getting up soon so she makes her way to the ground. She pauses at the top of ladder and studies the back his head. It's as reticent as the rest of him.

She slips inside her tent just long enough to deodorise and change clothing. Ed's still snoring. She remembers what Glenn had said the night before and on a violent impulse she stops for a moment. Imagines him lifeless, axe buried in his skull. The thought of him dead makes her stomach roil. Despite all the years of abuse, the way he's torn her down with his words and his fists some part of her still cares. She doesn't want him hurt, just gone, far away from her and Sophia.

When she gets back to the main area Daryl's gone and Dale's sitting in the chair on top of the RV, book in one hand and the binoculars in the other.

"Morning Carol," he says, smile fading as she looks up at him. "That-that looks real nasty."

"An accident," she says, "I fell."

He makes a noise of disapproval, puts the book on his lap and pulls his hat off, his mouth now pressed into an unhappy line.

"Well," he says, "Ed might want to make sure you don't suffer from anymore 'accidents'."

She's filled with a sudden rush of affection at the way he thumbs the edges of the book.

"Might be some ointment in the first aid kit that could help," he says, putting the hat back on.

"Thank you," she says, and he nods in reply.

"Oh," and there's something that might be embarrassment in his tone, "I don't suppose they'll be any breakfast coming up?"

"Actually," she says, climbing into the RV, "I suppose there will be. When everybody's up. I could make you something now though. If you can't wait."

She sticks her head out the door and looks up at Dale.

"That would be lovely," he says, with a small smile, "you're a wonder."

Carol ducks back into the RV so he won't see the expression on her face.

An hour later most of the camp is awake and Lori is helping her to make food for the group.

"I hate porridge," says Lori, stirring salt and honey into the mix.

"I miss Froot Loops," says Carl, "with cold milk."

No one else has mentioned her face. She thought Lori was going to but Shane had held her back, hand wrapped round her elbow as he whispered something in her ear. Andrea's eyes had narrowed but instead of asking she'd spent the morning stroking Amy's hair; calming her sister after another bad night. Jacqui had shaken her head but kept her thoughts to herself. The others had simply ignored it, although they were careful not to look at her face, staring at some distant point over her shoulder when they bothered to talk to her.

"Porridge again," says Sophia, and Carol tenses. "You know its a real shame mama 'cause I prayed real hard last night that God would at least bring us some Cheerios."

She turns to her daughter, but doesn't have the heart to berate her for wasting prayers on cereal.

"Mama," Sophia says in a whisper, and her touch is so gentle as she reaches up to press her fingers against the bruise, "what happened?"

"Just a fall," she says into her daughters hair as she holds her close, "I fell when I went out last night."

"Oh my God," says Glenn, looking absurdly stricken, "I'm so sorry, I should have been keeping better watch. No wonder-"

"It's fine, it's fine," she says, "I was just clumsy."

Glenn takes a seat next to Jacqui, who takes in his guilty posture and shakes her head again.

"How in the hell have you survived this long?"

"What?"

"Are you serious?"

"Why do people keep asking me that?"

Carol avoids making eye contact with Jacqui and hears the other woman sigh.

"Never mind, kid, never mind."

They all hear Ed before they see him.

"Where the fuck's my breakfast," he says, far too loudly, and at the sound of his voice Sophia tightens her grip.

"It's okay baby," she says softly, kissing her daughters hair. "You go sit with Eliza and I'll bring your breakfast over when it's ready."

"No," says Sophia, and there's a fierceness to her tone that both impresses and terrifies Carol.

"Please," she says, but then Ed's there, pulling her around by the arm and she has to grab Lori to keep herself and Sophia upright.

"I asked you a question, woman," he says, and the way his fingers press into the flesh of her arm will leave more bruises, "you been so busy talking shit you forgot what you're supposed to be doin'?"

"Foods coming," says Lori, arm coming up to hold Carol, she's got the ladle in her other hand, brandishing it at Ed like a weapon.

"I don't remember asking you, bitch."

Out the corner of her eye she sees Jacqui stand. Andrea's stopped petting Amy and is watching them, lips pressed together so tightly they whiten at the edges. She can hear the sound of the others moving around.

"It just needs a few minutes more," she says, keeping her head down and voice soft.

Sophia is trembling but Lori's grip around her shoulders is steady.

"You listen to me you-."

It's Shane's appearance that nips the whole thing in the bud.

"There a problem here?"

He's got one hand on his hip the other relaxed by his side. Lori calls it his power stance and they laugh about it when the men aren't around.

Shane's looking at Ed and there's something unnerving about the way he watches her husband.

"Don't make me repeat myself," he says.

"There's no fucking problem," Ed says, letting her go and stepping back, never willing to stand up to anyone he can't beat. Carol wonders what that makes her, if he's always been a coward.

"That's what I thought," Shane says, "and I know I don't have remind you about keeping the noise down in the camp."

There's an ugly twist to Ed's mouth and Carol knows that she'll pay for this later. She squeezes Lori's hand before wrapping both arms around her daughter again.

"You want to help me serve up breakfast?"

Sophia lets go of her gently, looks up and nods her head. Her face is flushed but her eyes are dry.

"Sure mama," she says, and Carol is not sure where she would be without her little girl.


	2. Beginnings

**Fandom: **The Walking Dead

**Characters: **Carol, Daryl and ensemble.

**Genre: **Gen with a touch of angst

**Warnings: **Brit/Australian writing about Americans / Ed Peletier being an arsehole (asshole) / unbetaed

**Summary: **Carol realises she's no longer alone. Set pre-season 1.

**Flesh and Blood (2/2)**

Later, when they've all eaten, Shane calls a meeting and Carol goes down to the lake. Makes a start on the laundry because she knows where she's not needed. Dale joins her after a while. The hat is off again and he rubs at the top his head as he sits down on a rock beside her.

"We could use a mother's touch back there," he says, and he looks tired. As if every one of his years is a weight holding him down. "Sometimes they're like a bunch of rowdy kids, each one trying to talk over the others."

"Not sure that a scolding would help matters," she says, sitting up and pushing the palms her wet hands against her lower back.

"I was thinking a spanking might be more the thing," says Dale, with a small shake of his head and half a smile.

She turns her attention back to the washing. Dale stays and stays quiet after she turns down his offer to help.

She hears movement and assumes it's Lori or one of the other women until the heavy footfalls register. She tenses, holds her breath as her stomach twists.

"It's Merle," says Dale, voice quiet, like he knows what she was thinking.

"You seen my shit-for-brains lil' brother," Merle says.

Carol keeps her back to him. He leers at all the women, even though she's sure he has no interest in someone like her. She's tempted to touch her hair but keeps both hands tangled in the wet shirt as she rubs it against the washboard.

"Not since this morning," says Dale.

She hears Merle spit, then draw in a breath like he's about to yell.

"I'm here" says Daryl, popping up from behind rocky embankment on the other side of the lake. He doesn't raise his voice but it carries anyway. "Jesus Christ, no need to fuckin' shout."

His crossbow is loaded and pointed toward the ground. He looks like some kind of elemental demon, skin covered in grime and sweat. Carol has no idea how long he's been sitting there.

"Don't you tell me what I can and can't do," says Merle, "where the fuck's that deer you were gonna bring back?"

Daryl, hunches slightly, turning his back to them.

"Lost the trail," he says.

"Whowee," says Merle, drawing out the sound, "I fucking told you. I fucking told you. Two days and you got nothin'. You get lost or something Darlene? Cryin' in the woods cause you're a fuckin' useless piece o' piss. You are full of shit lil' brother. Now come over here and give your big brother a hug. Tell me I was right."

Carol turns her head slightly to look at Dale. He's sitting unnaturally still.

"'M fine here," says Daryl, before disappearing behind the embankment once more.

"You son of whore," says Merle, "don't you make me come over there and whoop your pansy ass."

She flinches as Dale pulls at her shoulders, tugging her backwards away from Merle as he charges into the river. They both watch as he tries to cross the water, howling insults, and thrashing when the water gets to deep to stand. Carol leans forward to gather the clothes and washboard from where they fell. She's almost certain Merle can swim.

"I believe the expression is 'high as kite'," Dale mutters, stretching forward to help her.

After a few minutes Merle seems to give up, turning and making his way back to their side of the lake.

"What the fuck are you lookin' at," he says, lips twisting.

Carol looks down as Dale says:

"Nothing. We're not looking at anything."

"I'm not talkin' to you, you old cunt," he stops beside them crouches down, leaning into her space and grabbing the side of her face. Forcing her to look at him. "I'll ask again, what the fuck are you lookin' at."

She's pressed up against one of Dale's legs and she can feel a slight tremble, although she's not sure if it's his or her own. Merle's breath is hot and stale, his pupils so large and black she can see her reflection in them. He's big and mean and drugged up to his eyeballs but he's not Ed.

"You," she says, not breaking eye contact, "I'm looking at you."

He doesn't let go, just starts laughing like it's the punchline to the best joke he's ever heard. There's an elastic twanging sound and an arrow lodges itself in the ground less than inch away from Merle's left boot. He lets go of her, falling backward, eyes wide and mouth open.

There's no sign of Daryl on the other side of the water.

"You lil' shit," Merle says, but his black mood seems to have disappeared.

He looks at the arrow, mouth turned upward at one corner. He gets to his feet, shaking himself like a dog once he's upright, little droplets of dirty water flying everywhere. Carol watches as they hit the clothes and knows they'll need washing again.

"Fuck this," says Merle, smiling so wide they can see almost every one of his teeth, "I need a quick fuck and smoke but I guess a shit in the woods will have to do."

He reaches forward, open palm smacking Dale on the back as he laughs at his own joke.

"You feel me ol' man?"

"Yes, I certainly do," says Dale, but Merle's already gone; they can hear him whistling as he makes his way back up to the camp.

"Those Dixon boys," Dale says softly, as he helps set everything back up, so she can start the laundry again, "they certainly make life interesting."

Carol watches the embankment, wondering if Daryl's still there. She pulls the arrow out from where it landed. It's light-weight and clean except for the tip and smudges of dirt near the fletching, where he must have held it. She contemplates washing it in the river, but in the end decides to tuck it carefully under her legs, thinking she might ruin it by cleaning it incorrectly.

Dale clears his throat and holds out his hands for some soap and dirty laundry. This time she accepts his offer.

He keeps looking over at her in between washing the clothes. His motions are unpracticed and clumsy but he's trying and she's grateful for it.

"Are you ok?"

She concentrates on a stain that's marked Sophia's favourite blue shirt. It's a mustard colour and Carol doesn't really want to know the details. Her daughter and Carl have taken to catching crickets and other insects, which may have something to do with it.

"I'm fine," she says.

"I'm not just talking about what happened with Merle," he says, reaching behind them to grab another piece of clothing.

"I'm fine," she says again, looking out across the water and wanting it to be true.

Dale makes the kind of humming noise which could mean anything.

"You know," he says, rubbing soap against faded denim, "Merle may be, well, _difficult_, but the younger one, I reckon he's not as bad."

Carol cocks her head to one side to show she's listening.

"I mean, take this morning for example, he took last watch, unasked, no less and much to Theodore's delight. That boy needs more sleep than anyone else I've ever met. Did I tell you about when he-"

"Dale," she says, with a little smile to let him know that there's no malice in the interruption.

"Ah, yes," he says, clearing his throat again, "well Daryl not only kept watch, he also took the time to fold up the blanket we keep up there. Very neat folding too. Usually he just bunches it up, leaves it on the seat. I'm guessing we might just be a good influence on him."

He nudges her side gently with his elbow, his expression kind, and she realises he knows who really did the folding.

"So," he says, turning back to the washing, "all I'm saying is that I get the impression that underneath all that dirt there may actually be a redeemable young man."

Carol, thinks about the careful way Daryl had held that flashlight. The sound of the water is soothing and for a moment they could be anywhere. Just two old friends on holiday, making conversation before heading home. The sky is a perfect, clear blue, not a cloud in sight. She tips her head back and closes her eyes so that the harsh light of the sun becomes a red glow.

"Yes," she says, "I think so too."

The sky is a wash of pale pinks and dusky oranges before she finds time to return the arrow. The brothers keep their tents on the very edge of the site. Daryl brings back food for the whole group but generally the Dixon's keep to themselves, look after their own laundry, repairs and supplies. She remembers how Daryl had reacted the first time she had bought him food from the main camp only a few days after they had settled here.

"What's this?"

He had been seated on a roughly cut log outside his tent, cleaning the crossbow in the fading light.

"Your share," she'd said, keeping her head down, "I wasn't sure if you knew you were welcome, so thought I'd bring some over. "

She'd looked up, stumbling over the last few words as the absurdity of the situation had hit her. He was looking at her like she was a walker, wary that she might bite, and she was cowering as though he were some kind of wild animal. Or Ed.

"Here," she'd said, pushing the bowl into his hands. "There's one here for your brother too."

He took both bowls, putting the second one on the ground and holding the first one to his chest. He didn't say anything just watched her, eyes narrowed. She got the strangest feeling he thought she might take the food back. Not a wild animal, she'd amended, more like a stray.

Ed's voice had shattered the moment and she'd flinched when she heard him calling for her. She hadn't known what to say so she simply left, hoping to get to her husband before Shane could lecture him again about volume control.

The next morning she had found two clean bowls outside her tent.

Their camp seems abandoned now. The small fire pit is filled with ash and both tents are zipped up. She holds the arrow in both hands, thinks about leaving it for Daryl to find but she's not sure which tent is his.

"You lost or somethin'?"

The sound of Daryl's voice makes her startle. She places one hand over her heart as she turns toward him. He's holding a bundle of sticks and branches and looks a little less filthy, hair wet and the layer of grime smudged and thinner in places. Like he's tried to wipe it off with a damp cloth.

"You s-," she rethinks what she was going to say. "You surprised me."

He sniffs loudly, moving toward the fire pit and crouching down.

"I just came to return your arrow," she says, watching as he scoops out the ash from the pit with his hands.

He doesn't answer, neatly piling up the sticks ready to for them to be lit when the sun goes down. When he gets up she holds the arrow out, but he walks past her and sits down on the log. She watches as he deliberately shifts over a few inches, almost an invitation. Ed's sitting with the others; they're discussing whether the next supply run should be as a group. She knows it'll be a while before she's missed.

"Merle's sleepin'," Daryl says, wiping his hand against his nose and leaving a trail of ash behind, "he won't be up and about anytime soon."

She takes a seat on the edge of the log careful not to crowd him. He accepts the arrow when she holds it out this time. They sit in silence but it's not uncomfortable and she doesn't plan on saying anything but for once the words come out all on their own.

"I was going to leave him," she says, resting her arms on her knees. "I had it all figured out. A local shelter agreed to take me and Sophia. I'd even packed all the bags."

Daryl doesn't say anything but he doesn't tell her to shut up either.

"Then, the day before, everything went to hell," she says, twisting the ring on her left hand. "Ed didn't even notice that I already had bags packed for me and Sophia. Just made a fuss about how we were slowin' him down."

She stops, feeling a little breathless, heart beating like she's been running.

"What're you tellin' me for?" says Daryl, using the tip of the arrow to make tiny holes in the ground by his feet.

She leans forward, fingers tracing the laces on her shoes.

"I guess I just wanted someone to know," she says eventually, sitting up and resting her crossed arms on her legs.

The daylight's almost completely disappeared and she should really return to the main camp.

"Hadn't seem Merle for three years," Daryl says, before she can stand up, "then he shows up at my door, yellin' bout the undead. Thought he was out of his mind 'til a couple of geeks turned up."

He's not looking at her but he's stopped poking at the ground. Elbows now on his knees and the arrow balanced on the edge of his right hand.

"Didn't expect to ever see him again. Not sure I wanted to."

She doesn't ask why, figures he'd tell if he wanted her to know.

"Everything's fucked up now. Gotta make different kinds of choices," he looks up at her, makes full eye contact for the first time, "but the end of the day he's my brother. The only person I got left."

She thinks they understand each other well enough.

The sun rises and sets, the stars still burn in far off galaxies and the seasons will continue to change but this quarry might as well be the end of the world. It might be for some of them.

She stands up, takes a deep breath and readies herself to leave. He doesn't try to stop her but some impulse makes her stay a moment longer.

"Daryl," she says, not quite looking at him, "you're right, about sticking with your family. But I think they're not the only people we have here. I guess we're not alone anymore"

His lips turn upwards and she thinks it might be the closest thing to a smile she's ever seen on his face.

He ducks his head and when she leaves he says: "G'night Carol."

She's going to ask the Morales family to let Sophia stay with Eliza again, she decides as she walks back towards the RV. Ed will whisper harsh words to her later, leave another trail of bruises, but her little girl will be safe for another night. In the morning she'll chat to Dale, help Lori with breakfast and laugh quietly with the other women while they do the chores and watch over the children. She silently vows to keep an eye out for Daryl as well, to make sure he gets his share. And she'll hold her daughter close whenever she's near.

It's the end of the world but she's not alone anymore.


End file.
